Price Tag
by Shadowlass
Summary: Amidst the ruins of the Magic Box, Anya contemplates her life.


TITLE: Price Tag

AUTHOR: Shadowlass

RATING: G

SUMMARY: Amidst the ruins of the Magic Box, Anya contemplates her life.

EMAIL: shadowlass2000@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMERS: I don't own BtVS. If I did, the show's summer break would only be two months long. Also, I would insist Anya chose a haircolor and stick with it.

The Magic Box is a disaster—not the earthquake type of disaster. Not natural. More the insane-witch-seeking-vengeance type of disaster. Xander would probably say she went medieval, but I was around for the medieval period and I can tell you what she did was not medieval at all. In those days witches tried to keep a low profile so as not to be burned, beheaded, or dunked repeatedly. It didn't always work, but they did make the effort.

Willow did not make any effort whatsoever. What did she care if she was found out? These days the village elders are 45-year-old businessmen, and in this town they ignore odd occurrences. In this town the officials have plenty of explanations for them ready-made. Willow knew she could do whatever she wanted to; of the people who loved her, no one was strong enough to take her. The people who didn't love her just looked the other way, the way they do every day with every strange thing that happens in Sunnydale.

Have I waited an appropriate amount of time after her breakdown to say that I never believed Willow was addicted to magic? That was just ridiculous. As if magic was some drug. There's crack, there's heroin, and there's oregano. Absurd. I never became "addicted" to magic, and I was doing some reasonably advanced spells before D'Hoffryn approached me. Giles apparently engaged in quite a few occult-related activities when he was young, but somehow never managed to become "addicted." And if it was addictive he most certainly would have mentioned it to Willow. The man starts lecturing if you put your feet on the coffee table. Do you really imagine he'd just forget about the whole magic-is-addictive thing? That it would just slip his mind? And Tara. She was using magic long before Willow and she never—

Oh. I guess this is one of those moments. The ones Xander was always telling me about, again and again. No, Anya. That's not the kind of thing people say. Can't you act like a real girl, Anya?

Dawn has a book of ballet stories that she loves. Sometimes when we're over at their house and I can't stand one more minute of listening to them talk about things that happened five years ago, I go upstairs and read it, although it was actually written for children. Why should that stop me if I enjoy it? There's a story in the book about this doll, a big one, that a toymaster made so he could pretend it was his daughter. He put it in his window, and a boy fell in love with it. He talked to it and told it how pretty it was and how much he loved it. He had an actual, live girlfriend, but he preferred the doll. He didn't even realize it wasn't real.

I think Xander would prefer the doll, too.

I never hid anything from him. Why would I? My life was an open book. The first time I met half our graduating class was when I helped some vampires take over the Bronze. And a couple of months later we went to the prom together, so it's not like he didn't know what he was getting into. I never pretended to be the girl next door. Or a superhero. Those roles were already taken.

I've got to start cleaning this stuff up.

Giles hasn't said anything yet. About whether he's staying or going, I mean. Last summer I was so anxious for him to be gone, and now I'd give anything for him to stay. Things were better when he was here; without him everything's fallen apart. I could do all the work in the shop and he could just stay here, and that would be fine.

Of course, I'm not sure where "here" is anymore. When I said the Magic Box was destroyed, I meant destroyed in the more meaningful, literal sense of the word. Not a mess. Destroyed. The fire marshal inspected it and said the second floor might come down any time. The parts of it that aren't down already.

I don't know why I'm still here.

Giles is at home with Buffy and Dawn. I don't know if he even knows where I am, alone in the shop. The cash register is on the floor and badly dented, which I keep thinking must have been deliberate on Willow's part—a slap at me. I know that's silly, but I can't help it. The only thing she thought about me that night was how best to render me unconscious. At any rate, the money was still there—in the register, I mean. Of course, thieves could have come in at any time, what with the front windows being smashed and all, but they probably assumed that whoever destroyed the shop took the money. After all, what kind of person would create so much destruction for no reason? Oh wait, we know exactly what kind. The kind that Xander would consider a "real" girl.

You know, he told me he loved me. But there were still those looks. Even when he didn't say anything, there were the looks. The ignore-her-she's-stupid look, and the god-I'm-so-ashamed-of-her look. If you'd ever met his parents, the fact that he could find something that he could be ashamed of in me…god. He didn't even want them at the wedding, but he was ashamed of _me._

They made him, and they broke him. I didn't realize he was broken when we started going out. It didn't matter. All that mattered then was what we did in bed, and that was good. Even in the basement, with laundry hanging above us and the sounds of the too-loud television coming from upstairs, it was good.

I'm not really sure why I thought it was more than that.

I still think of him, although not all the time. And now the thoughts are kind of sludgy and indifferent, rather than angry or hopeful. I wanted to be with Xander. I pushed the relationship forward. But he was the one who wanted to get married. That was his idea. Not mine.

He was never happy with me. I don't mean that he never experienced happiness when we were together; I mean that he was never happy with who I am. He always wanted someone like me, who wasn't me. Someone who knew what to do and what to say, which I never did. When we were with other people I could feel his eyes on me, saying _don't do that. Don't say that._ He never wanted me to be myself. I got to be his girlfriend, but it wasn't me. It was like I just playing his girlfriend. She was someone else, someone his friends wouldn't think was strange or awful or stupid.

I wasn't always good in the role. It's kind of funny, when I think about how I tried to be someone else for him, that it was the real me that made him call off the wedding. Anyanka, I mean. That foul creature who talked to him—I cursed him years ago. I don't know how many. I don't even know who he was, or what he did. It was lifetimes ago. It was the same thing I did every day. I didn't know better. It was my job. It was what I did. I was good at it, and nobody looked at me like I was an idiot because I didn't curse someone right.

I cursed them right every time.

At least the breakup was for something _I_ did, not something I did when playing Xander's girlfriend. That would have been worse. A lot worse. I don't think I'm entirely back to myself yet, but it's been awhile. I was her for a thousand years, so I'll get there. Somewhere around there. I'm not sure how far.

I'm back with D'Hoffryn again, but he's being patient. I still work here too, or at least I did until Willow decided to make the world go blam. I'm not sure which way I'm going to go—when I was a vengeance demon before, I didn't have another job as well. Being a vengeance demon is a career, it doesn't leave a lot of spare time.

We'll see. I'm not thinking much about Xander now. Right now, I mean. There are a lot of things on my mind. Removing the cash register—it can be repaired, they're quite expensive—salvaging undamaged merchandise, meeting with the claims adjuster. I'll have to keep Giles abreast of everything. Right now Giles is lying on the couch at Buffy's; he's still weak. He handled Willow so well—no panicking for him. I wonder how his leg's healing. I wonder about his plans. I wonder about a lot of things. 

I wonder how he feels about older women. I wonder how he'll feel about the real me.

I wonder how I will.

The End


End file.
